matter to the killer whether we see that sign or not,” said Spere.
“Great,” said Greene, and he made a gesture as if to throw his notebook over his shoulder.
“All right, that’s Delia, unless anyone has anything else to add.” Hazel drew a circle around the facts as she’d written them down in short form on the easel. No one spoke as she wrote “Michael Ulmer” on the other half of the sheet. “Ray?”
“Okay, so Ulmer. Less than forty-eight hours later, most likely around noon on Sunday, November 14. A call was placed to the Chamberlain Community Policing office around eleven thirty. The caller identified himself as a home care nurse. We’re going to
have to go with Chamberlain’s superior policing skills on that one and take it at face value unless anyone wants to propose a reason the killer called in his own crime.”
“Forty-five minutes before the time of death?” said Spere. “Sounds a little daring.”
“That’s what I think,” said Greene. “So: white male, twenty-nine, multiple sclerosis sufferer. Was apparently killed by blunt-force trauma to the head, emphasis on
force.
Forensics found teeth embedded in the victim’s pillow. Both hands were severely traumatized in a similar fashion, but there was no evidence of venipuncture, and it would seem, from what we saw at the crime scene, that there was no shortage of blood supply in the victim’s body. East Central OPS is sharing jurisdiction with us on this one and we sent Ulmer to Mayfair to keep Jack Deacon in the loop. We’re waiting for pathology to be faxed up to see if there was anything in his stomach similar to what was in Mrs. Chandler’s. The victim here was almost certainly carried upstairs to a master bedroom that, apart from the murder, appeared to be unused.”
“Forensics?”
“Same as the Chandler murder,” said Spere, “but without the carpet scuff. One item of interest is that despite the amount of blood, it’s limited to the murder site. The killer would have had to clean himself up, but there’s no blood on the carpet in the master bedroom, or in the closest bathroom. He’s very meticulous. I think he’s only
appearing
to make a mess.”
“Deacon isn’t done with the body, but we know what we know about its physical condition. Let’s sum up.” Hazel circled Ulmer’s column and now she drew a line under it all. “Ident practically bagged both houses, but nothing points anywhere conclusive so far, correct, Howard?”
“My guys brought Mrs. Chandler’s computer in this
morning,” said Spere. “There’s nothing. Some e-mails to and from an old girl in Florida—weather and gardens, that sort of thing. A couple of Web receipts from the drugstore—she knew how to renew her prescriptions online. Very little else. There was virtually nothing of interest in her Web history.”
“What would that be, Howard? A Web history.”
“Just a way to go back over the places you’ve visited on the Internet over a period of time. What we found out was that she learned how to make Parmesan rice last Monday on a recipe site, on Tuesday she Googled Merle Haggard and
As the World Turns,
and two Wednesdays before her death, she bought a duvet cover on Bidnow.com .”
Wingate seemed surprised. “So was this an assisted suicide or not?”
Spere cast him a look. “You think buying a duvet cover is evidence one way or the other?”
“I think so,” said the young detective. “If she knew this person was coming to visit her with the purpose of helping her to end her life, then why would she be buying
anything
online?”
“Good point,” said Hazel. “She lets this man in, but she has no idea what’s going to happen to her?”
“Or she’s actually not expecting him,” said Spere.
“Let’s reiterate: no signs of a struggle,” said Greene.
“Right. But he’s sedated her with belladonna.”
“He broke her finger,” said Wingate. They all looked at him, and then at Hazel.
“Go on, James,” she
“Great,” said Greene, and he made a gesture as if to throw his notebook over his shoulder.
“All right, that’s Delia, unless anyone has anything else to add.” Hazel drew a circle around the facts as she’d written them down in short form on the easel. No one spoke as she wrote “Michael Ulmer” on the other half of the sheet. “Ray?”
“Okay, so Ulmer. Less than forty-eight hours later, most likely around noon on Sunday, November 14. A call was placed to the Chamberlain Community Policing office around eleven thirty. The caller identified himself as a home care nurse. We’re going to
have to go with Chamberlain’s superior policing skills on that one and take it at face value unless anyone wants to propose a reason the killer called in his own crime.”
“Forty-five minutes before the time of death?” said Spere. “Sounds a little daring.”
“That’s what I think,” said Greene. “So: white male, twenty-nine, multiple sclerosis sufferer. Was apparently killed by blunt-force trauma to the head, emphasis on
force.
Forensics found teeth embedded in the victim’s pillow. Both hands were severely traumatized in a similar fashion, but there was no evidence of venipuncture, and it would seem, from what we saw at the crime scene, that there was no shortage of blood supply in the victim’s body. East Central OPS is sharing jurisdiction with us on this one and we sent Ulmer to Mayfair to keep Jack Deacon in the loop. We’re waiting for pathology to be faxed up to see if there was anything in his stomach similar to what was in Mrs. Chandler’s. The victim here was almost certainly carried upstairs to a master bedroom that, apart from the murder, appeared to be unused.”
“Forensics?”
“Same as the Chandler murder,” said Spere, “but without the carpet scuff. One item of interest is that despite the amount of blood, it’s limited to the murder site. The killer would have had to clean himself up, but there’s no blood on the carpet in the master bedroom, or in the closest bathroom. He’s very meticulous. I think he’s only
appearing
to make a mess.”
“Deacon isn’t done with the body, but we know what we know about its physical condition. Let’s sum up.” Hazel circled Ulmer’s column and now she drew a line under it all. “Ident practically bagged both houses, but nothing points anywhere conclusive so far, correct, Howard?”
“My guys brought Mrs. Chandler’s computer in this
morning,” said Spere. “There’s nothing. Some e-mails to and from an old girl in Florida—weather and gardens, that sort of thing. A couple of Web receipts from the drugstore—she knew how to renew her prescriptions online. Very little else. There was virtually nothing of interest in her Web history.”
“What would that be, Howard? A Web history.”
“Just a way to go back over the places you’ve visited on the Internet over a period of time. What we found out was that she learned how to make Parmesan rice last Monday on a recipe site, on Tuesday she Googled Merle Haggard and
As the World Turns,
and two Wednesdays before her death, she bought a duvet cover on Bidnow.com .”
Wingate seemed surprised. “So was this an assisted suicide or not?”
Spere cast him a look. “You think buying a duvet cover is evidence one way or the other?”
“I think so,” said the young detective. “If she knew this person was coming to visit her with the purpose of helping her to end her life, then why would she be buying
anything
online?”
“Good point,” said Hazel. “She lets this man in, but she has no idea what’s going to happen to her?”
“Or she’s actually not expecting him,” said Spere.
“Let’s reiterate: no signs of a struggle,” said Greene.
“Right. But he’s sedated her with belladonna.”
“He broke her finger,” said Wingate. They all looked at him, and then at Hazel.
“Go on, James,” she
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